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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24693826">Death Rode Into Hell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldToadWoman/pseuds/OldToadWoman'>OldToadWoman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Discworld - Terry Pratchett, The Good Place (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Fluff and Humor, Funny, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:48:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,371</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24693826</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldToadWoman/pseuds/OldToadWoman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Death walked into Stupid Nick's Wing Dump in Gainesville, Florida, but Jason Mendoza was running late.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A Ficathon Goes Into A Bar</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Death Walked Into Stupid Nick's Wing Dump</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>written for the Dreamwidth <a href="https://intoabar.dreamwidth.org/">intoabar</a> prompt: "Death (<i>Discworld</i>) walks into a bar and meets… Jason Mendoza (<i>The Good Place</i>).</p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <br/></p>
</div>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Death walked into the Stupid Nick's Wing Dump in Gainesville Florida ten minutes before the drumstick-eating competition where Jason Mendoza was scheduled to choke to death on a "chicken" leg. </p><p>The Death of Rats followed at his heels. When Death sat, the Death of Rats scampered up the side of the booth and took up a position near Death's head.</p><p>The Death of Rats tipped back his hood for a better view of the room, revealing his skeletonized rat skull and gray whiskers. Bright blue sparks glowed out of his eye sockets. Like Death, he had no ligaments or sinew to hold it all together, but the bones and whiskers moved just as if he had.</p><p>The living ignored them. Or at least they tried to. A few more sensitive souls seemed vaguely aware of something large and cold looming in the corner booth, but most felt only a strange uneasiness that made their eyes slide quickly over the new arrival.</p><p>The Death of Rats pointed his scythe at a rail-thin man with an unpleasant cough. <b>S<span class="small">QUEAK</span>?</b></p><p><b>N<span class="small">O</span>,</b> Death answered.</p><p>The tiny scythe swung to indicate a woman who was fanning herself in the heat, sweating more profusely than most of the other patrons. <b>S<span class="small">QUEAK</span>?</b></p><p>Death did not answer because he was momentarily distracted by the menu board over the counter. He had neither tongue nor stomach but he was tempted to purchase the "suicide wings" just to see what they were.</p><p>The bone rat swung his scythe in a circle to indicate the whole establishment. <b>S<span class="small">QUEAK</span>?!</b> </p><p><b>W<span class="small">ELL, <i>EVENTUALLY</i>, SOONER OR LATER, YES</span>,</b> Death answered. It was not, overall, a healthy crowd so he thought it would be sooner rather than later for a few of them. <b>H<span class="small">OWEVER, MY APPOINTMENT HAS NOT YET ARRIVED</span>.</b></p><p>The Death of Rats did not squeak again, but he tilted his head in a questioning manner. </p><p>It was unusual.</p><p>Death was rarely early. He prided himself on his punctuality. This, however, was a special case.</p><p>Death did not personally reap every soul that crossed over. Each world, each culture had its own expectation of the afterlife and who should guide them to it. Most of the recently departed could even be trusted to wander toward the light all on their own. This death—<i>The</i> Death—did most of his reaping on a distant flat disc balanced on four massive elephants standing on the back of a turtle that swam through the stars. He usually left the business of other worlds to other deaths. </p><p>This spheroid world seemed quite unnatural to him. Earth was very odd. Florida especially so. It was Earth Extra Edition. </p><p>As a general rule, peninsulas tended to bottle up strange energies. Ley lines didn't like hitting dead ends. Italy was a lightning rod of magic in the Mediterranean and people had positively no idea the kinds of things that went on in Michigan's thumb. At least Michigan had the decorum to keep most of it out of the newspapers.</p><p>What brought Death personally to Stupid Nick's Wing Dump was Jason Mendoza.</p><p>Jason Mendoza had been scheduled to die on at least seventeen prior occasions. Dodging a few close calls happened sometimes. It wasn't even that unusual, but <i>seventeen</i>? </p><p>Death didn't take it personally. He was only curious. </p><p>That incident with the manatee… not to mention several situations involving fires, alligators, recreational drug use… and at least one involving fire <i>and</i> an alligator. (The recreational drug use went without saying.)</p><p>The drumstick-eating competition began, yet Jason Mendoza did not arrive. Death pulled Jason's hourglass from his robes and eyed it suspiciously. It had a few more bends and twists than the average person's and sometimes the sand got stuck and you had to give it a good shake to get it moving again. </p><p>Death gave it a good shake.</p><p>There was now more sand in the top portion than there had been before. Death shrugged imperceptibly and put the hourglass away. <b>H<span class="small">E'S NOT COMING. </span>N<span class="small">O ONE WILL DIE HERE TONIGHT</span>.</b></p><p>The Death of Rats indignantly pointed his scythe at the deep fryer. <b>S<span class="small">QUEAK</span>!</b></p><p><b>A<span class="small">H. </span>Y<span class="small">ES. </span>S<span class="small">ORRY. </span>I<span class="small"> MEANT TO SAY THAT NO HUMANS WILL DIE HERE TONIGHT. </span>T<span class="small">HAT IS YOUR DEPARTMENT.</span></b> </p><p>Death ordered his suicide wings to go and was mounting his pale horse as the Death of Rats exited the building followed by the spectral forms of several rats, one seagull, and—to Stupid Nick's credit—a few actual chickens.</p><p><b>T<span class="small">HE DANCE CONTEST RAN INTO… OVERTIME</span>,</b> he explained, though he questioned that last word. Even Death was not entirely sure how he knew the things he knew; facts merely arrived in his mind as needed. A detailed understanding of dance contests was not important. <b>B<span class="small">Y THE TIME HE ARRIVES, ALL THE DRUMSTICKS WILL BE GONE. </span>H<span class="small">E WILL BE SAD, BUT HE WILL NOT DIE.</span></b></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Death Rode Into Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Death rode into Hell—Tate's Hell State Forest to be specific—astride his pale horse Binky, but otherwise alone. The Death of Rats had not been inclined to make the trip even after Death pointed out that there might be a dead armadillo or something in need of his services.</p><p><b>S<span class="small">QUEAK!</span></b> he had said quite rudely. You would think a rat wouldn't be so fussy about swamps. He'd clearly gone soft in the city. Well, not <i>soft</i> obviously.</p><p>Binky had an OHV permit pinned to his bridle because Death believed in obeying the rules even if he wasn't entirely sure whether Binky counted as an Off-Highway Vehicle or not. </p><p>Death knew he would find Jason Mendoza on the OHV trails just over the horizon. He also knew he would find Jason Mendoza inside the stomach of a bear. These were not mutually exclusive locations, but Death suspected that Mr. Mendoza was going to miss his appointment again. It was vexing.</p><p>He found Jason along with his compatriot, a man answering to the moniker Donkey Doug, in the middle of a muddy pit that they were digging deeper every moment by furiously spinning their vehicle's wheels. All wildlife in the vicinity had long been scared off by the sound of the racing motor. There would be no bear today.</p><p>He put the vision into their minds that he was an ordinary human. (Death may have been confused about what constituted an ordinary human as he typically appeared as an ominous hooded figure with an unnaturally jet-black beard.)</p><p>"Yo, homey! You got a rope?" Jason called out. "We could use a tow."</p><p>Their vehicle was a 1963 Volkswagen Beetle, painted with an off-center red and blue stripe in the style of a popular film, though the vehicle's racing number had been altered to 69. </p><p>The Volkswagen did not, Death noted disapprovingly, have an OHV permit.</p><p>Jason misunderstood Death's gaze and instead pointed at the racing number. "Because it's the <i>Love Bug</i>, get it?"</p><p>"The only thing the movie got wrong, my dude," Donkey Doug added.</p><p>"If we get the car unstuck, will we still have time to go to Alligator Point?" Jason asked. "I wanna see what the alligator is pointing at."</p><p>Death towed them out of the mud. </p><p>He paused before riding away as Jason and Donkey Doug debated the feasibility of swimming out to Dog Island without drowning.</p><p>Death glanced at Jason's hourglass, shrugged, and rode away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Death Walked Into a Vacant Warehouse Just off Route 228 in Jacksonville</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Death squeezed through the crowd of the vacant warehouse. It was only vacant <i>officially</i> as it was now overflowing with a throng of revelers. The Death of Rats scampered up Death's robes and perched on his shoulder to avoid the indignity of being stepped on.</p>
<p>Nothing outside the warehouse advertised that for tonight it was an impromptu dance club, yet it was still filled beyond capacity. There was going to be a fire—a casually discarded cigarette on a greasy floor too close to near-empty storage drums of industrial residue of uncertain origin. Dozens would die. Dozens more would be badly injured.</p>
<p>Death experienced no emotion beyond a mild annoyance that this could have been avoided if Jason Mendoza had just kept even one of his previous appointments.</p>
<p>"Bortles!" </p>
<p>Jason shot fireworks into the ceiling. </p>
<p>The result was spectacularly terrifying and inexplicably less-flammable than the envisioned cigarette. It set off the warehouse's sprinkler system which in turn short-circuited the overloaded extension cords leading to the stage which ultimately knocked out the power for twelve square blocks. </p>
<p>The techno "music" was replaced with acoustic "music" as someone utilized one of the less-toxic storage drums as a drum of the percussive variety and the party continued lit only by glow sticks and imagination. </p>
<p>The sprinklers continued to rain down soaking everyone to the bone, Death literally.</p>
<p>
  <b>S<span class="small">QUEAK</span>.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I<span class="small">NDEED</span>.</b>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Death Stalked the Perimeter of the Jacksonville Vegan Festival</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Death stalked the perimeter of the Jacksonville Vegan Festival. He did not head towards the center of the festival where he <i>knew</i> Jason Mendoza was destined to die in three contradictory ways, two of which involved acts of violence.</p>
<p>"I don't get it," Jason's friend Pillboi would say in one of those realities while wearing a sandwich board reading <i>Gator-On-A-Stick $5</i>. "We should be selling <i>so many</i> of these. They're vegans, man. They should be <i>starving</i>."</p>
<p>Death ignored the misleading pull of Jason Mendoza and instead focused on the edges of the crowd—sunburned shoppers, tired parents, people who were just trying to go about a normal day unprepared for the extra festival traffic. </p>
<p>In front of the Jimmy John's sandwich shop, a thin woman wrapped in a sheet was shuffling down the street. She was waving a kitchen ladle like a magic wand in one hand and a cigarette that was literally sparking in the other. The crowd gave her a wide berth but otherwise ignored her. The logic seemed to be that if you didn't look at the crazy person then the crazy person couldn't see you either. Oddly the logic tended to work most of the time.</p>
<p>The woman was walking down the line of parking meters, tapping each one with her ladle. The clang jangled the mechanism and the indicator dropped to two minutes remaining on each meter that she tapped. Half a block behind her, a parking enforcement officer was impatiently waiting for the last minute to tick before he could issue his next ticket.</p>
<p>Death—who most certainly did not need to breathe—sighed for purely dramatic effect. </p>
<p>He cleared the throat that he did not have. </p>
<p>When she continued to fail to notice him, he called her name. </p>
<p><b>A<span class="small">NOIA, YOU'RE A BIT OUT OF YOUR TERRITORY, AREN'T YOU</span>?</b> </p>
<p>She didn't even turn to face him. "I like it here," she answered. "This Orbworld is quite entertaining."</p>
<p>
  <b>J<span class="small">ASON </span>M<span class="small">ENDOZA.</span></b>
</p>
<p>Anoia stopped and tucked her ladle in her armpit and half-crossed her arms, the elbow of her cigarette arm cupped in her free hand as she sucked in a drag of nicotine. The cigarette sparked brighter. (There were rumors that Anoia had been a volcano goddess back in primordial days when there had been more volcanoes to go around.)</p>
<p>"Noticed, did you?"</p>
<p>
  <b>Y<span class="small">ES</span>.</b>
</p>
<p>"Can't I keep him?" she pleaded, batting her eyes, only one of which still bore a false eyelash. Even Anoia wasn't entirely sure what had become of the other one. "He's <i>so much</i> fun."</p>
<p>
  <b>A<span class="small">RE YOU NOT THE </span>G<span class="small">ODDESS OF </span>T<span class="small">HINGS </span>T<span class="small">HAT </span>G<span class="small">ET </span>S<span class="small">TUCK IN </span>D<span class="small">RAWERS? </span>I<span class="small"> DO NOT SEE ANY DRAWERS.</span></b>
</p>
<p>"Too niche," she said, shaking her head. "I've branched out. Goddess of Trivial Annoyances."</p>
<p>"Bortles!"</p>
<p>Something exploded.</p>
<p>Neither Death nor Anoia flinched.</p>
<p><b>T<span class="small">RIVIAL</span>.</b> </p>
<p>Death had an impassive stare without even trying.</p>
<p>"All right, I'll grant you, he might count as overreaching a bit, but his talents would be <i>wasted</i> in the afterlife."</p>
<p>"I have no doubt," Death said without knowing how right he was, "that Jason Mendoza will annoy plenty of people in the afterlife."</p>
<p>"Fine. Fine. The next one's yours. I won't interfere again."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Death Walked Into a Mexican Restaurant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Death walked into La Cantina de los Cielos. The police had already been called, but no one had thought to open the safe yet so the scene was still relatively calm as bored restaurant staff traded theories about what exactly Pillboi thought he was up to.</p><p>Jason watched as the police arrived. He seemed no more confused than usual.</p><p>"Yo," he said when Death approached.</p><p>
  <b>Y<span class="small">O</span>.</b>
</p><p>The safe was opened. </p><p>Someone screamed.</p><p>"Whoa," Jason said. "That's me."</p><p>He was wearing the same snorkel as the corpse in the safe.</p><p>The Death of Rats had the decency to hide his face as he snickered.</p><p>"Am I dead?"</p><p>
  <b>Y<span class="small">ES</span>.</b>
</p><p>"Do I get to haunt the taco place?"</p><p>Death tilted his skull as he pondered <i>get to</i> and chose not to respond. He silently raised his arm and, with long skeletal fingers, pointed at a doorway.</p><p>The doorway was a metaphor. Sometimes it was a stone arch. Sometimes a ring of light. For Jason Mendoza, it was just a scuffed, wooden door with a sign on it that said <i>V<span class="small">ICE-PRINCIPAL'S </span>O<span class="small">FFICE</span></i>.</p><p>Jason gripped the doorknob without hesitation but as the door opened, his snorkel vanished. His tracksuit was replaced with a monk's robes.</p><p>In an odd juxtaposition, the open doorway revealed what looked like a dentist's waiting room.</p><p>Jason looked down at his robes. "Oh, no. Oh, man, I <i>knew</i> I should have joined that religious cult in the park. But, dude, they wanted me to give up <i>cheeseburgers</i>." Jason turned back towards Death with a hint of panic on his face. "Am I going to go to hell because I ate cheeseburgers?!"</p><p>Death didn't know. In truth, he'd never known what was behind any of the doors, though he was under the impression that it varied widely. </p><p>  <b>P<span class="small">ERHAPS YOU SHOULDN'T MENTION THE CHEESEBURGERS. </span>O<span class="small">R THE CHICKEN WINGS. </span>O<span class="small">R THE… GATOR-ON-A-STICK.</span></b></p><p>"Those were not nearly as tasty as they sounded like they were gonna be," Jason said, momentarily distracted.</p><p>"Jianyu Li," a voice called out from beyond the doorway. "Please come in."</p><p>Jason glanced sheepishly over his shoulder. </p><p>He looked back, shrugged, and with a final wave to Death, Jason disappeared through the door.</p><p>  <b>S<span class="small">QUEAK </span>I<span class="small">K</span>?</b></p><p>  <b>I<span class="small">T MUST BE AN </span>O<span class="small">RBWORLD THING</span>.</b></p>
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